


the sea fares better than us

by theholychesse



Series: something, everything is wrong [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (although its in the same verse as the other series fic), (tho u dont have to read the other one to get this one), Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, conG RATS, im too lazy to edit so heres the original draft me and bam did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6496744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theholychesse/pseuds/theholychesse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps if you woke up on your other side, today would have gotten better. </p>
<p>You're as old as man, but man is still the beast that hurts you most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sea fares better than us

You wake up, and it’s dark. It’s nothing new for you, just like the sensation of cold crawling into your toes and into your chewy tendons. Nothing new for you. Just like today’s name of Frisco, and yet it still tastes odd on your tongue. Even though this is nothing new, this is not how you were supposed to wake up. You should have been in your Captain’s bed, her outstretched hand playing in your hair, even as your gut went cold and heavy.

 

You should have been kissing her good morning, and helping her into her corset. Not shakily getting on your feet in a room that... can only be called a dungeon. There’s straw by your feet, and the smell of stale urine and... iron, definitely from leftover blood. It all makes the room seem rather homely. You have no wounds, save for some old crustiness by your head. It is healed, but some of the blood did not return, and is lodged in the thick of your hair. You find a beetle there too. Wriggling and squirming, you grimace before fishing it out and setting it down. You groom your hair for anything else alive and chunky. Looking around your cell with probing fingers and squinting eyes, you try to search for any a weaknesses in the walls.

 

Your take a step and there’s a crackle of glass. It's so sudden it's enough to make you jump and hiss. Sure enough, a few minutes later, a door opens and with it comes sunlight and the smell of the sea wafts down from above. A man steps through.

 

You know him, because you and your Captain have been hunting him for the last three years. Ever since you and your captain met on that harbour, with your arm deep in the guts of a whale, and she, elegant and gentlemanly dressed, ordered you to swear fealty. You are her Knight, and this man is your dragon.

 

Federico. Scourge of the lands owned by the King of Spain. He’s an Indian with dark hair, dark eyes, and a dopey smile plastered on his shapely face. You know who he is. Who he was. Who he will always be. And you don’t want anything to do with it. For this life, for this life at least, you want to get away from all of that. You were trying to set your own path. But you should have known that this would be the fucking case. Ever since you caught sight of him in-person, a place opened up in your heart. You felt the all-consuming urge to protect deep in your winding offal, just resonating there as a huge fuck you to your existence.

 

You belong to your Captain, and yet, as he steps closer, causing the wood to creak and whine underneath, you feel a fuming vibration in your throat. You look at him, and your curls creep into your vision, as he comes to tower over you. Despite being originally a slave, he is far larger than any Spaniard, Frenchman, or Portuguese.

 

“Ah, my brother. Such an uncomely place for you to be in. Honestly, such a fine young man does not deserve the company of the rats. Shall we set you free, Catalan?” He asks, and you twitch because you are so much more his elder. Your head rises, and your chin tilts, and even though you can kill him in so many different dizzying ways, you don’t. It’s not kindness that keeps your brain free from red electricity. She wants him alive.

 

“You are no brother of mine, scum.” You hiss, and for the first time in years, you can’t remember something. How did you get stuck with the company of this cur. It’s irritating, but there’s still a bubble of something in you, something that you haven’t felt for a while. “You will let me out regardless, you know this, and you know that Daniel will find me.” It irks you, saying that name, but no one else must know.

 

“Ah…Danilo. Your captain, no? The one you’re so loyal too?” He’s pointing out the obvious. Everyone, especially him, on this side of the Caribbean knows who Frisco of Catalonia is, and which master he serves. Everyone knows Frisco kneels down to kiss his master’s hand, her cheeks, her thighs, and cares not for her tarnished honour or what she prefers to be called behind closed doors. Men didn’t take kindly to such types of lifestyles. Hence, your Captain has to regularly whip boys who insult you behind your back.

 

Honestly, you don’t know if Federico is pretending to be dumb to grate on your nerves, or of he’s been snorting more of that nut that he’s prone to. As if knowing your thoughts, he wipes his nose, and takes a step closer. His hand reaches through the bars, and he offers you his pinky. Like an adult would to a child so as not to get lost in a crowded city.

 

You bare your teeth, but withhold the urge to claw at that dark finger. It’s visibly as rough as yours, and no amount of frills or snow white cotton will hide that. “That’s right, bastard. So cease while you still have your limbs in the right slots.” You can feel his brows raising, even in the low light of the room. The hand retreats back, and the lock jingles. You have no idea how this moron has foiled your Captain time and time again.

 

He lets you out, the dumb fuck. He even offers to hold your hand as you step over the raised bars. You refuse, instantly dancing to the corner of the room, closest to the door. You could kill him, so, easily. Kill him and everyone in his fleet within a minute. It’s only Her who’s stopping you.

 

“Ah-ah-ah.” He says, voice almost a purr. With the sun falling on him, you can see the glint of his sword and guns, there’s a smear of powder on his chin. You can hear his heartbeat thump loud and fearfully in his chest, even though he looks at ease in his high. It’s not supposed to be like this. What does he know.

 

You aren’t any less wary, in fact, when he moves closer you flinch so hard your back is pressed up against the wall. He shushes you, in that low, accented voice of his, and murmurs things in a dialect of Portuguese you can’t quite understand. You’re perplexed, and you need to know what he knows.

 

“Come now, my little soldier. No need to be so tense.” His Spanish is back, but he is getting closer, and closer. Though his body language is gentle, and even though he hasn’t made any movement to hurt you, your fingers grip the cracks and weathering on the strong wood. With your brain singing with the urge to scamper up and hide, you can only think to clot his blood and make him drown in oxygen let him feel his cells starving one by one.

 

He’s so close you can smell his breath. It’s foul, you wheeze in reaction. You can’t help it, you lash out and hit his solar plexus. He makes this hoarse sound and bends in two, reaching out to hold your shoulder. His touch is warm, and you're just as breathless as he is. You don’t move. You even halt your shaking that was hard enough to visibly affect three of you, but you're not quite sure when it began. Your too bright heart seems to grow sluggish and pained.

 

“Ah, brother, you’re, y-you’re so ireful, you know?” He takes a breath, and his other hand goes for your still chest. He frowns, and gropes along the sides of your ribs. “Come on, brother. Inhale. Exhale. Let the blessed air of the gods go in and out. I won’t hurt you. You aren’t your Captain.” You can feel the rough of his fingers through the fabric of your thin cotton shirt. They’re rubbing circles into the hollows between each bone, and his exhales make your eyes burn.

 

At some point, you breathe in, hard. You exhale with a shake, pinned against the wall and his hand you can’t tell which immovable object you are leaning against.

 

“Shhh, brother, shhh. We, of the similar kin, must look after each other, no?” You take another deep breath in, and you have the barest idea of what he’s talking about, and are struck by ill-fated hope. You hope what you think is coming will not come. You don’t want to go back to it. Not yet.

 

The door creaks, and the ship sways on the fertile waves. Sometimes you try to remember if you were the one who made them. You’ve spent enough time on these oceans, the thought crosses your mind on occasion. Then maybe it was someone else who made these beautiful waters, with eyes far kinder and softer than your’s. Or maybe that too is a fabrication, like the sensation of you ever having true hope in your mess of a cranium.

 

“Haa—D-Don’t, don’t say it.” You whisper, and you can’t look him in the eyes. He huffs, and his hands reach up into your hair. They run through it, tugging out bits of straw, grime, and even a few chips of dried blood. You make low noises of anguish, and he continues to shoosh you. God, it feels so surreal, perhaps because so very long ago your roles were reversed.

 

“Don’t say what?” He’s acting coy, and heat bubbles up right in your center. He moves away, as if sensing it. He probably can.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

He laughs, and his knee comes in between your legs. You suck in a breath, and wonder if this is some terribly strange dream fueled by your relentless subconscious.

 

“Nah. You’re far too unwilling, brother. But if you really want me, I won’t mind. It’s just that you and your Captain…” He trails off, and that anger (Rage, ha.) swells. He smiles with his eyes not matching up with his mouth, his sight, stuck on a patch of wall for far too long.  
He looks vaguely pleased.

 

“Keep me for ransom.” You almost beg. You’re angry, but you know your position here. You can get out of this, but you wouldn’t be the same for it. “Keep me here, feed me gruel, and never touch me again. Don’t do anything else.” You lick your lips, and shut your eyes. Maybe it's a dream. If it's a dream, the blood will come any second now.

 

“Well. That’ll be partly true.” You want to sob. You want to kill. “You’re kept for ransom, in this odd little way….” He drawls lazily, but each blow he inflicts feels too calculated. “But I don’t ever expect to give you back. Not like you can’t escape if you apply yourself. A motherfucking god like yourself won’t have trouble with us mortals. Even a Hero like me can’t hope to keep you down.” This time you bawl for real, your hands scratching into the wall, and you can feel the cold press of the walls rub your fingers into wetness. Your ankles prop against the wall, even as you plot on what you will do.

 

One of his fingers cleans up the wetness blurring dirt on your face, and when next he speaks, his voice is lower and gentler. It makes shivers dance up your spine, electricity exciting your nerves. “No need to weep, darling. It’s alright. I won’t use you. A sea god like you, a being like you, should be free. But I need a teacher, and something that’s as old as you should be the best.” His thumb rubs the corners of your eyes. “We may not be the same element, but I’ve heard that does not stop the sea god with power over the waters of our body, Karkatos.”

 

You make this wet little laugh. “That’s not my name.” You can’t even properly recall it now. He recognizes your feeling, and his touches turn into strokes. No one would want you as a teacher. This broken heap of feelings and memories and wants and obligations. You’re amazed how your Captain still wants you, after she’s seen almost all of your most grisly facets and aspects. But not everything. No one will ever glimpse everything.

 

“Tell me it.” Now it is him who begs, and he is close enough to kiss. You think on it. You think about holding him, bedding him. On creeping into his heart and mind and then having him so utterly wound around your finger that he will throw himself overboard for you. You’ve done it so many times before.

 

“I don’t want to.” You don’t want to tell your name. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to stay. You wanted to escape.

 

His touch remains gentle, but tightens. His head drops into the crook of your neck and shoulder. He has to bend his knees uncomfortably to do so, but from his easy exhale and the relaxation of his shoulders, he’s better for it. He looks so very young. So very human.

 

“You have no other choice.” He says, into your collarbone. “I already bought you from your Captain.” This is nothing new, and yet, your chest is wracked with sobs. Your knees are shaky, and the floor beckons.

 

“I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to.” You lament, and that's the day you threw away yet another name.

**Author's Note:**

> Y EAH. for those. 2 of u who are a fan of the series---its. pre much dead. i mean weve still got some rp material that i can use as chapters, including an exciting bank robber scene, and. i could edit and post it if there's demand?? but. the fic won't be finished, most likely. i'm pretty sure from this fic you can gleam the general plot of the other one and of this series. wh oo PS


End file.
